By now the April issue was out, and it was clear that the magazine's improvement was no flash in the pan, that the book was still getting stronger and stronger - largely due to Mr Slide and his girls, Bernice had to concede. Whether it was just a result of James's desire to do even better, or whether it was a more direct consequence of their recent meeting, Bernice found herself being requested by Mr Slide to visit clients with him more frequently over the next few weeks.
She could hardly refuse: it was not only eminently sensible, it was something she had herself suggested to Bob Percival several times before his abrupt departure. It was good for her, in that she got to know the day-to-day problems of the ad team; it was good for the ad team because they could use her as a carrot to dangle in front of important advertisers who would pitch to her about their companies just as James would pitch about The Business.
And what a pitch, what a performance. He was tireless: no matter how many times he was turned down, he kept on fighting. He was a chameleon: whatever kind of approach, whatever kind of person the client wanted, they got. Moreover, he was positively humble: he bowed and scraped before clients that needed it, and did so without the least hesitation. And so she watched in amazement as he flirted with the brainless Belindas, and humoured the dumb Damians that seemed to inhabit marketing departments and advertising agencies everywhere. He tolerated their enormous gaps of knowledge, their arrogance, their indifference. And in the end he won their trust, their nominal friendship, and finally, most importantly, their business.
But things did not stop there. He had to make sure that he kept the business, that he got it exclusively, that he got more of it and for a better price. He was always going back, producing yet more charts to prove his point, using yet more gadgets - portable slide projectors or computers - to convince, cajole or just impress. She noticed too that along with the portable phone and calculator, he kept a small tape recorder in his briefcase which was secretly left running during these presentations. When she quizzed him about this - asking him sarcastically if he liked the sound of his own voice so much - he just smiled and said that it often proved useful to be able to throw people's words and indiscretions back at them. A kind of blackmail in other words. Bernice wondered for a moment whether she had said anything to Mr Slide that she might regret.
Despite discovering that she was 'on the record', she still allowed herself considerable lee-way during these meetings with the agents and clients. She never felt obliged to agree with stupidities or laugh at sexist or racist jokes as James was. In a way, they formed the classic nice and nasty police team: Bernice was sometimes abrasive, always brutally honest, while James was endlessly suave and accommodating. The results were impressive, with ever more advertising at ever better rates coming into the magazine. And so despite herself, she found that she rather admired his dogged professionalism; she saw there was even a kind of perverted integrity in it, as he allowed nothing to get between him and closing the sale. None of this quite expunged her feelings about the recent discussion - which she was obviously unable to convey honestly to Cristina, resorting instead to hints and half-truths - but it did mitigate them considerably.
Though she found her meetings with James a natural part of her job, albeit an increasingly entertaining part, others thought differently. In particular Chris was beginning to feel abandoned. He had come down with the office flu at the end of February, and had taken the opportunity to stay home for a week - and be coddled by his always adoring mother. He needed the attention, he felt, especially now that Bernice was too busy for him.
The more she was in meetings with Mr Slide - or Mr Lubricant as Chris now insisted on calling him - or out on the road with him, the less she saw of Chris in the office. The hours they were both working meant there was no out of office, and she was now rarely able to help him with his articles as she had in the past. It was only without her that Chris realised that he needed the crutch of her support. He was now struggling seriously, and felt both angry and frightened for the future.
The outside world was becoming increasingly rough too. In the run-up to the launch of their new title Morgan-Banacek was not averse to spreading a little disinformation about The Business - for example that its circulation was dropping, that they were sacking the ad manager, that Bernice was about to move on. The main conduit for these rumours was the industry rag, called Media Messenger. It arrived every week on most journalists' desks, and was much derided for its ironically dreadful standards of writing and production.
However, it was read, partly because there were always thinly-veiled rumours about all the main publishing houses in its backpage gossip section, and partly to forestall any queries from senior management about stories concerning their own titles. In a curious way its existence was even valued, because everyone found it a useful means of passing on information to those same senior managers in a non-attributable way. So, for example, a publisher might well leak the results of a survey - if they were good - in advance to Media Messenger so that his boss's boss would see them and take notice in a way that sending a memo to him would never have achieved.
It had become one of Chris's unofficial tasks to read out some of the more interesting or outrageous pieces from Media Messenger, and the issue of 24 March proved to contain a rich vein of material for his recitation.
One of them concerned the vexed issue of new technology.
"'The journalists of the global media conglomerate Panglom International have accepted a management offer of a lump sum for the use of new technology. This follows threats by the union to strike in support of a 'fair deal' for the use of computers in putting together magazines and newspapers.
Initially the journalists had been insisting on a lump sum and pay rise, but following further negotiations with the union agreed instead for a larger one-off lump sum, believed to be around £1500 in return for other 'technical' concessions.' - very nice too," concluded Chris, "that's the kind of lump I could really lump."
"Fools," muttered David, disgusted at their short-term view, and wondering what 'technical' concessions they had given up in return.
"'Morgan-Janacek' - well, they were close," Chris said as he read out another item," have announced the appointment of a Managing Editor for their new launch, New Business, expected to be launched soon. The Managing Editor's name is Dolores Katzenellenbogen; she is American, and said "this is a great opportunity to serve a market not currently being served."
Dolores joins a team that consists of Publisher Bud Morle, Ad Director Randy Papadopoulos, and Editor Peter Lawnesley. The launch is scheduled for 5 May 1989." This was the date that they had heard from other sources - principally those of Mr Slide - though its apparent confirmation in Media Messenger made it rather less likely now.
"Managing Editor," said Yasmeen, "where does that fit in?"
"Could be anywhere," said Bernice, wondering what the implications of this were.
"Poor Pete," said Mowley, as if guessing her thoughts, "he's been shafted."
"What's your reading, Dave?" she asked.
"Well, could be a number of things, but it looks to me that they either wanted a token UK Editor to keep the natives happy but always intended bringing in a Yank to oversee things, or else for whatever reason changed their minds about the structure " - that is, about Pete, Bernice thought. "They probably also wanted to damage us as much as possible by taking staff. I'm surprised those headhunters didn't make you a better offer that you couldn't refuse, Bernice, that would have been much more effective," said Dave.
Bernice said nothing.
"Still, useful for the ad team to go out and spread a few rumours themselves," Dave concluded.
"Talking of whob," said Yasmeen with a sniff, refusing to accept that she in her turn was falling ill, as James appeared in the doorway.
"Sorry to disturb you all, but I thought you might be interested in some titbits that I picked up just recently. You've doubtless seen the piece in Media Messenger. That's just the tip of the iceberg," he said.
"Seems they've had big problems getting teams together - I'm surprised that they haven't been cherry-picking from here - " he said parenthetically.
"I don't think Pete would do that," said Bernice in explanation.
"Well, your Pete is rather out of the equation now. It's this Dolores bint that's running the show. One of Morgan-Banacek's ace managers, I gather, who's been sent over to give everyone a 'good kick up the ass' as the head of Morgan-B was apparently heard to say," - and just where do you hear these things? wondered Bernice, intrigued.
"As far as the first issue is concerned," he continued, "they're majoring on yuppie stars - in fact I think this could be the cover feature. Basically it's glitz: telephone number salaries, New York penthouses, all the usual nonsense. I've got a complete list here of the stories in the dummy, plus a hot list of the first issue: I'll get Becky to give you a copy. Oh yes, one other thing: the first issue is going to be big - they're talking double our size. Now this could be just the usual blah-blah-blah, but from my knowledge of the company, they'll really want to do it, and be prepared to pay for ads to achieve that kind of pagination. I think that's about all," he said. "I'll leave you to get on with it," he concluded.
"How did you get this?" asked Bernice coolly as he moved to the door.
"Does it matter?" he said, turning and looking her in the eye. She said nothing. He went on: "one of my girls was visiting a client, turned out that he had a lot of the info on the title. The girl used her - nous, I think is the word I'm looking for - " Terence's eyebrows rose - "and managed to extract the stuff I've just passed on. Definitely bonus time for that young lady," he said, proud of his team just as she was of hers, though in rather different ways.
"Perhaps a weekend break somewhere?" Bernice said acidly.
"Perhaps," said Slide, quite untouched by her tone. "Bye," he said to no one in particular as he left.
"Seebs quite ibpressive, that Bister Dubricant, eh?" said Yasmeen, sinking fast. Bernice glanced at her, wondering.
"Yes, that should certainly help us," echoed George. Chris said nothing, and just wished that Mr Slide were not quite so efficient.
But Bernice was not so sure. She wanted to win, certainly, but on her own terms. She wanted to produce a magazine that was simply and manifestly the best. Not one that succeeded through such espionage, such cheating. And she felt cheated herself. This was not the battle she wanted, and she felt now that if it came, inevitably it would not be the victory she had hoped for.
Things had started to turn sour with Pete leaving - her fears about this move now amply confirmed. She wondered whether the same would have happened to her, or whether they had taken Pete and then found he was not quite what they'd expected. She had been surprised by his appointment, she had to admit. He was a solid journalist, wrote well, but was surely no obvious launch editor. More likely, though, she thought with typical self-deprecation, that they had planned to bring in the Managing Editor from the start - and would have done so with her too.
Now this inside information had completed her dissatisfaction with the whole project of launching The Business. In retrospect she saw that it had been compromised from the very start. OK, no more compromises from now on, she promised herself. At least she knew what she would do if it came to a strike over the new technology. She could only concur with the motto on Wobs' T-shirt today: Don't Fish Me Over - whatever it meant.
